Warband of Wolves: The Inquisiton
by indogma
Summary: Nearly four years after Roland's arrival to Calradia, a new enemy threatens his way of life. A group calling themselves the Inquisition, a band of witch hunters roaming through Calradia "cleansing" the land from anything that appears evil. Can Roland stop this group from harming innocent people? Or will his past put him at risk for the same punishment?
1. Prologue

**The Warband of Wolves**

**The Inquisition**

A fanfic based off the game:

Mount and Blade: Warband;

and my own fanfic.

By Indogma

**Prologue**

I never wanted to come here in the first place. I never asked to be taken away from my home, from the place I knew better only to be thrust into a world I knew little about and was not welcomed to. I was happy where I was, living my life without any of this, without any drama of this magnitude.

Now I'm here, in a dark room, waiting.

My eyes feel heavy, and I realized I have not slept in… how long? A day? Two days? This damn room blocked off all sources of light, making it impossible to even take a guess as to how ling I have sat here. Then again, I was never good at tell time in this damn land.

A pair of footsteps I can hear outside my door, quiet at first, bit growing in intensity and becoming more brisk. Was it time?

No, I realize as soon as the footsteps fade away into the hallway, away from the doorway that was the only way out of this hell.

Who knows if I will even be remembered in this damn world? Sure I did some good here and there, bit in a few years they will forget all about me. Did I touch anyone? Did I influence a single person, let alone inspire them? Probably not, otherwise they would have been here with me, suffering like I am now.

I feel and itch on my nose, and try to bring on hand up to scratch it, only to bring my other hand along for the ride. I instantly remember, and feel the tight coarse hemp rope that binds my hands together. How could I forget this? When they captured me, they tight this rope so tight I could not feel my hands at all.

Another sound of heavy footsteps outside my door, but this time they stop, and someone is fiddling with the lock, trying to open the door. It must be time.

The door opened, and the sudden reveal of light is so intense I had to try to block the light form my eye just to see.

The dungeon cell I am held in was lit for the first time in several days it seems, and yet it was as dull and featureless as before. No matter, it was a terrible place anyway. Why should I care about how it looked like?

"Cover his face." A man's voice ordered. And within seconds a cloth bag is put over my face and eyes, having my sight return to the comfortable darkness. But while my eyes where relieved from pain, my heart started rushing in my chest.

"Get him up," the same voice barked, and a pair of arms clasped my arms and forced me to my feet. I don't even have the energy to resist anymore, let alone stand. Once on my feet, I nearly fall from the sudden strain that is placed on my feet, but the hands grabbing my arms hold me up, thankfully. Thankfully? Why am I thankful to these bastards?

"He can 'arely stand," one of the men observed.

"If he falls, drag him then. Came the first voice again. "Either way he's goin' to the block."

Great, looks like I am going even if I can't stand. I don't know why I was expecting anything else, but there was hope, right? I guess it doesn't matter now.

Trying again, before they dragged me, I try to get on my feet again, and find some strength to remain their. "Looks like he wants to go game, eh?" The first voice mocked. "Fine by me."

Now I am walking along with these three men, none of them care about me at all as they lead me to my death. Yet, here I am walking with them. A clever man might be able to think of some clever quip about complying to be led to his death, but not me.

Suddenly the floor seems to disappear for a moment, and I stumble forward, yet still being held by the two men. Stairs, I realize, as the two men lower themselves to the first one without incident. If they were careless, gravity would have done their job for them.

Down we go, my eyes still covered by the sack covering my head, and unable to slow down thanks to the two men at my side pulling me forward. After one or two trips on the stone stairs, the floor levels off, and I able to walk in secure footing again.

I can the sound of two large double doors opening, and a mass of people cheering. We're here already? It's not like I was expecting a long trek, but this was far too quick for what I was expecting. But I can't exactly complain.

As we move forward, I can feel the touch of the sun for the first time in days. It is nice, warming, energizing… I never noticed how much I enjoyed the sun, or how much I will miss it.

"Keep moving," the man ordered, and I am jerked forward out even more into the sun. Had I stopped? I hardly noticed.

Another flight of stair, but these are different, they creak, and moan under me. They must be wood. I am here.

"Put the prisoner on his knees," came the order, and before I can comply, I am shoved down landing hard on the wood planks before me. Probing me up, someone removed the bag over my eyes, and I wince as I am blinded again by the sun's direct light this time.

When my sight clears, I see were I am, in the centre of a courtyard, surrounded by a crowds of people, all looking at me with contempt in their eyes.

"ROLAND OF THE WOLVES!" Came a stern voice. I turn my head to see a man in a white surcoat with an bald eye as it's emblem reading from an unravelled scroll to the crowd for their sake. "YOU HAVE BEEN FOUND GUILTY OF SPREADING, SHARING AND THE USAGE OF WITCHCRAFT! IT IS THE DUTY OF THE INQUISITION, LEAD BY HIS MOST VIRTUOUS LEADER OF THE INQUISITION, MILO FERGEN—"

I turn my head to the left and see a canopied balcony, and see him standing there, a firm look painted on his face. He must be happy, with all of this.

"—TO PUT YOU TO DEATH TO ENSURE NO OTHER PERSONS CAN BE CORRUPTED BY YOUR WAYS." Rolling up his scroll, their came a cheer from the crowd. They were excited for this, they where here to see someone lose his head, not matter who it was.

Damn them all.

"Executioner," the man in the surcoat said in a softer voice, "You may proceed."

I sneak a glance at the man who was being paid to end my life. A giant of a man, whose face is covered in a dark mask, with two evil eyes looking out from two holes in it. He must enjoy this work, because has two think burly arms tempered by years of practice for holding his sword. Wait a sword?

I've heard of these, instead of an axe, some executioners were specially trained men that could cut a man's head off with one sweep of the blade. A rare person to get a hold of, and I smile at the fact that I deserved such a special method for ending my life.

For a moment, I look up to the sky, to see the lovely blue in the sky today. It's a nice day for anything… even an execution.

I feel the executioner sword's shadow cross my face, and I look up to meet his eyes one more time. They were locked on my head, focused on his work, and not letting anything disturb him. Did he think I was a witch? Or did he believe like the rest of the people here?

It doesn't matter; I decide, turning my head back to face the crowd. No one I know is out there I hope. For their sakes.

A moment's pause, and the world stands still. Everything thing I have done in the few years I have been here, every person I met or killed flash before my eyes. I can't help but smile, they were some good times.

I can hear the executioner grunt, and fell the shadow move from my face. It's almost over.

Goodbye, Calradia. Everyone.


	2. Encounter in the Forest

**The Warband of Wolves**

**The Inquisition**

A fanfict based off the game:

Mount and Blade: Warband;

and my own fanfict.

By Indogma

**Chapter One**

**Encounter in the Forrest.**

The man's sword flew in the air with in flash, and where there had once a head of a man had been, was suddenly empty of any sort of physical object. Instead the head of the man, could been seen on the wooden platform in front of the body it once controlled. At the sight a large cheer erupted from the crowd of people who had gathered around the platform for this spectacle.

"Impressive," a tall thin man said marvelling at the feat of strength and control he had just witnessed. The man was draped in a white surcoat with a black eye in the cloth's centre, with four slanted red lines on the man's shoulders. He poured himself a goblet of wine, and turned to met eyes with his companion: A smaller man, barely a man of about 18, holding a small group of papers. He had wiry red hair, that seemed to have a mind of it's own every day and always found a new on his head place to stick up from, unlike the first man's hair that was sleek and a collected brown, grouped together into a long tail behind the man's head.

"I've heard rumours about such a execution, but I must admit I have never seen such a sight."

"Nor I milord, Fergen." The red headed man replied. "The crowd seemed to have liked it."

"Indeed," Fergen agreed, "The first execution for the inquisition. Although, it might be better if we announce who is about to die before hand. Someone who reads the name of the accused and why they are to have their head off."

"Aye milord." The red headed man said scribbling a not on one of the paper, "I will pool the local men and see who is the best candidate."

"Good, Gorce, I knew you were a reliable man when I employed you." Fergen praised.

"Thanks sir," the man known as Gorce said as he smiled back weakly.

"Any more patrols have returned?"

"The ones to the east have returned clean of witches. The ones to the north and west will be in within Curaw by a day, but the ones to the south…" his voice trailed off as he saw Fergen nodded understanding.

"They have the most ground to cover and might take awhile."

"Exactly sir."

"It cannot be helped," shrugged Fergen showing the news did not upset him to Gorce's relief. "As small as a force as we are now, it cannot be helped."

"Hopefully the Vaegir King will be more then forthcoming with funds this year since we are keeping his lands witch free. We've had twice as much executions then last month, so it shows we are doing our job."

"No lord like to give money to anyone, even if we are doing what we are designed to do, they will always give less then we ask for. It's the way of things."

"Seems a bit unfair sir," Gorce commented.

"Life often is…" Fergen countered, "Lords get the best treatment, the best food, the medicine, the best of everything." Fergen turned to look at all of the peasants now filing out of the courtyard, "While they are stuck with very little if any help in this harsh world. Hopefully we can make this world a little less harsh for any of them."

"I see sir."

"Speaking of aid, how are the plans for the tower coming?"

"Fairly well sir," Gorce smiled, "The Swadian architect is making good time. He is nearly done with the foundation plans and will send them in advance while he finishes the rest of the plans."

"Good," smiled Fergen, happy at how things were coming. "And the money?"

"Slow sir," Gorce cautiously added, "It's hard to raise any money for a large tower of about a hundred cells to be built in such a sort time. No Vaegir lord is willing to give us a single denarii, let alone the tens of thousands we need."

"I see," Fergen replied coldly, "We will keep at it. Once we show them what we can do, I believe they might come around and help us build this cell tower.

"A tower full of cells…" Gorce frowned, "Do you think we will need all of them?"

"I have no idea," Fergen said unsure. This was the first time the red headed boy heard his leader be unsure of anything. "But if I am right, it will bring a knew age to Calradia. One of innovation."

"I hope so too sir," Gorce replied.

"Good lad. Now you best be off with your work. Let me know if there if any news to our patrols."

"Yes sir!" The young man answered enthusiastically, and left the leader of the inquisition.

"Oh, Gorce," Fergen called after Gorce suddenly remembering something.

"Sir?"

"Any word of the Witch of the Plain?"

"Uhh, no sir. Not yet."

"I see." Fergen replied disappointed, "Keep and ear to the ground, and let me know the first thing you find out about her."

"Yes sir," Gorce nodded finally able to go about his business.

With all prying eyes gone from sight, the brown hair man relaxed in his chair and let his head wander over to where the awful deed had taken place. He noticed the blood for the first time, where the head of the victim had fallen on the wooden planking. He would have to find someone to clean that up, for it left a bitter taste in his mouth. The whole event of killing anyone did.

"What a waste," he sighed aloud knowing no one would hear him. He turned back to his side where a map of Calradia was placed on a small side table next to his chair. "And were did you disappear to, witch of the plains? Where did you vanish to?"

"She didn't just vanish into thin air," Roland of the Wolves said aloud as he looked over a map of the area near Halmar. "Francis said she was in this area… but we can't seem to find a trace of her."

"It's like she never even existed," Haydee, Roland's second in command of the troop of Wolves. "Maybe she really is a witch after all."

"Are you saying you believe in witchcraft?" Roland mused.

"Well," Haydee said equally playful, "You yourself was brought here from Earth by something. Why not witchcraft?"

Roland smiled lightly at the comment, aware that Haydee was the only one of the Wolves that could make a joke like that. He looked at his lieutenant over, she had changed since she had first joined the Wolves.

Haydee now was about a few inches shorter then Roland, although when she had first met the Wolves she had been nearly half a foot shorter then her captain. She had sleek black hair that went down to her ears, roughly cut and giving her an almost boyish look. But if one looked at her face, her hair would be one of the least noticeable features on her face. Amidst her dark tan skin, a long distinct scar cut over her right eye and brow, giving her a seasoned fighter look. Roland had even noticed she had grown a habit of rubbing the scar whenever she was nervous or unsure about something.

Apart from the standard Wolf surcoat her and the rest of the company wore to distinguish them from battle, Haydee had added her own personal touch to the look. Part of a red and golden scarf, that had once been her mothers, was rapped loosely around her neck bundled together into some sort of knot and held fast by a wooden brad with a lily on it, the rest of the red scarf was wrapped around the young woman's left arm, like a snake coiling around a pillar, all the way down to her hand, where it wrapped around her palm and rewrapped itself around her arm and rejoined the other end at her neck. Rather unconventional use of a scarf, but she seemed to enjoy how it looked, and she promised to remove it in battle to avoid it tangling on anything, or to be used by an enemy to get the jump on her.

"I guess I don't know," Roland smiled. "It could have been in the end." The smiled faded, "But it gets us no closer to finding her."

"True," Haydee sighed, "But I still am not sure why we are combing the Khanate looking for her."

"Remember when Francis gave us his bad news? He seemed to have missed the point that this woman knew something about the prophecy herself."

"What makes you say that?"

"She was able to point him in the right direction, told Francis who and were this other woman could be found. Why would she know all of that without knowing a thing or two about the prophecy herself?"

"It is strange," Haydee nodded.

"Yeah," Roland sighed, scratching his head, "Yet we can't seem to find her after four days of searching around the area and nothing."

"Four days of searching in the middle of Khanate land." Haydee added, "We're lucky the Sultanate is still holding on to their siege of Halmar for that long."

Roland nodded, it was fortunate that the Sultanate main army had retraced its steps and laid siege to Halmar, again. Less then a day's ride to the north of them was the now surrounded city, and thanks to the Sultan's desire to take the city, the Wolves could prowl north of Unuzdaq Castle untroubled by the Khanate. But time was running short, and Roland knew soon either the siege would end in a massive battle between the Khanate and Sultanate, or the army would flee like they did before, allowing the Khanate to chase after the Wolves, seeking payback for Asugan Castle.

"We'll be lucky for a few more." Roland agreed. "Two days at most before the Khanate counter attack, and I wouldn't want to be around here when that happens."

"If we are to run, then we would have to head North West," Haydee said tracing her finger towards Dhirim. "The East would be risky, we might collide with the retreating Sultanate men through the pass. If they slow us down—"

"We might have to fight again," Roland said grimly. "That would be bad."

"Very," nodded Haydee. "Especially since our men have no idea why we are out here."

"Are they complaining?" Roland asked.

"Not yet," Haydee shook her head, "Having the men think they are out foraging is keeping their suspicions low. But if we stay here longer…" She didn't need to finish.

"I see." Roland nodded. He was very proud of the idea he had to have the men search out for food while at the same time keeping an eye out for the witch. Of course, thanks to the local's opinion of the Wolves, they could not buy any food from the local villages, leaving hunting and foraging the only means of food. "How is today's hunt going?"

"Slow," Haydee frowned, "Alayen's group had no luck finding anything. Man or beast.

Deshavi's party hasn't returned yet." "How long have they been gone?" "A few hours," Haydee replied, "They were on the trail of a stag, it went south into the woods by Amashke."

Roland hid a frown as he grasped his chin. Amashke was very close to the Unuzdaq Castle. While he trusted Deshavi to be smart in avoiding the fortress, he could not help but worry. After a moment, he sighed, "I better go check on them make sure everything is alright."

"Are you sure?" Haydee asked.

Roland nodded as he headed to exit his tent, "Just a check in with her. I'll take a few men and see what is keeping her. You're in charge of the camp until I get back."

"Very well," she sighed, thinking he was a little over cautious about the whole affair. "Stay out of trouble," she adding teasingly.

"Oh, I'll try." Roland teased back.

It didn't take very long for Roland to meet with the dark skinned archer, seasoned tracker, and former bandit's wife, Deshavi and her hunting party in the thick tree brush nearby Amashke. Apparently, on of the hunters and hit the deer, but had lost the tracks, and now the party were regrouping to comb through the woods to search for any sign of it.

The appearance of Roland and his few riders was a lucky break for the hunters. The extra man would help spread the area of search, and before he knew what had happened Roland found himself roped into the far right flank of the search party.

He grumbled to himself as he urged his horse forward into the wood. He didn't want to be here, on the closest side of the party to the hostile village, with the closest Wolf about fifty feet to his right. Oh well.

The slow search thought the forest was uneventful, one tree looked like the next, one bush looked exactly like the other, and their seemed to be no end of the vegetation in this small wood, all with no sign of the deer, or it's trail.

Then Roland jerked suddenly, like their was a string to his back, had be imagined it? Or did this forest look eerily familiar, like he had been here before, some time long ago? Déjà vu?

Now commanding all of his senses, Roland looked to his left and saw the rider he was placed next to, he was still in Calradia. But there was something off about this place. Suddenly a colour jumped out of the foliage to his eye, a bright red thing propped up against a tree to his right. Roland stopped his horse, and stared at it. It was about twenty feet away, yet he could not tell for certain what it was, but he knew it was not from this world.

Quickly he darted a glance towards the other Wolf to his left, he had not noticed Roland's stop and was still vigilant for any sign of the deer. Lightly he turned his horse towards the object, only to stop the beast short when he realized what it was. It was a red backpack.

Roland mind swam with alarm, and he quickly turned to see if he had been noticed by the other rider. He had not, and the Wolf's gaze was focus on the forest floor. He could shout, alert the rest of this company about the strange object he had found. It's what any Calradian would have done. But he was not Calradian, and knew the secret of what it was and what it might contain. Turning to stare at the backpack once more, Roland knew why he was holding back. He wanted to search it; he wanted just the one familiar item of home. Plus there was a chance who ever had left it here was still around the area. He would have to warn him, inform whomever own the backpack that he was in another world, and he would have to be careful.

He dismounted quietly, on the opposite side of the horse to abstract the view from the other wolf, tied up his horse and walked on foot towards the backpack. Even though he had seen it thousand of times back on Earth, he was surprisingly cautious around it, lowering every step he took ahead lightly, to cause the least amount of noise.

Twenty feet, ten feet, then five, closer and closer to the red bag, and he was still so cautious, keeping an eye out for it's potential owner, or worst: some nosy Calradian who might think it was his. Roland dared not think of the repercussions of that, but they plugged away at the back of his mind, like the sounds of crickets in the night.

Finally, Roland arrived at the foot of the bag, and kneeled to take a look at the red backpack. Although he was several years old in his little knowledge of backpacks, Roland could tell up front that this was a fairly cheap bag, made from a cheap interwoven material. The bag only had three compartments, each sealed shut by a black cheap zipper. And yet the bag looked full.

Roland gave another quick look around, tempted to call out to see if anyone could claim this bag, but then he remembered the many Wolves nearby and realized he would draw them to him if he yelled.

He placed his hand on the zipper, and pulled the metal device back slowly. It was strange that such a insignificant sound of a zipper parting, could bring back so many memories to Roland: all the times he too once opened a backpack, or had ever used a zipper in that case. Aware of this thoughts, but dying to know what this object had brought from home, he pulled the zipper all the way.

Candy! Apparently whoever had own the bag was a connoisseur of sugary treats and delectable food items. This was a goldmine to Roland. Hell, Henderson and the others would give an arm and leg just to taste any of these again. In fact, Roland bet Henderson would give him his city and villages just to own this bag.

There were chocolate bars, both with nuts, caramel, pretzels, even some Roland had never even heard of before his arrival to Calradia about four years ago. The young man could not help but salivate at the thought of the candy, and dug deeper into the bag and was rewarded by discovering a different variety of candy, the fruity kind, and then Roland was on cloud nine. The entire bag was full of candy, and Roland wanted to yell aloud at his good fortune.

Then a rustling of leaves brought Roland down from his good mood.

Quickly he swung his head up, and met the eyes of the owner of the bag. The first thing he noticed was the man's weight; the upper half of his body was a like a large sack of potatoes, bulky an cumbersome that sagged out around his waist that appeared to be held in by a green large polo shirt, above his thick trunk of legs held up this large about of weight. His head was egg shaped, with dark black stubble hairs on his neck and chin to show the beginnings of a beard, and a receding hairline. He had a short nose, with a small pair of glassed that was at odds with the rest of his body.

He only took one look at Roland, rummaging through his bag, and Roland could the man's thin brows crinkle in anger. No one touched his candy.

Roland raised his right hand to try and explain himself, only to lurch back in surprise as the man rushed him the backpack still tight in his other hand. As he tried to get back on his feet, Roland felt a heavy shove to his chest that knocked him back again, this time a heavy pull in the other direction form the bag. The man wanted his candy back.

However after years of training of swordplay and wearing a heater shield, Roland's grip was stronger then the other man's and held on to the bag, as if it was a the only means of salvation. Suddenly the bag ripped open and the contents erupted onto the ground around them. Infuriated at this damage of this personal property, the fat man, cocked back his arm and caped Roland right in the jaw as the mercenary tried for a third time to get off the forest floor.

Roland had enough. Lowering his free hand, his left still holding on to the now empty backpack, from a gesture to stop violence, to pull his sword from its scabbard, and held the point directly at the man's gut.

The anger on the man's face faded into sheer terror at the sight at the very real sword now threatening him. He was now very aware that, to him, he had angered a mysterious man dressed in a Wolf surcoat. This guy took medieval cosplay a little too serious to be healthy.

Sacrificing his candy, the man turned tail and ran from the clearly insane Roland, showing, despite his weight, he was capable of great speed.

Roland staggered to his feet, suddenly realizing he had over done it with the sword and shouted, "Wai—t!" His voice cracking at the end of the word as he grunted loudly in pain his mouth on fire. Dropping the now ripped bag, his left hand went up to his jaw only to flinch back in pain as he discovered the cause of it. One of his back teeth seemed to be usually free from his gums. Did the bastard actually mange to break a tooth?

"Damn-dammit," Roland swore aloud, angry at himself for letting his guard down. If he was not so bloody curious as to what was in the bag, he might have scanned the area around him just to be sure he was alone. Instead he did the worst thing anyone could have done, and made himself look like a thief after his candy. And to make matters worst, Roland knew in his mind he needed to go after him, if not to save the big man from himself but from Calradian locals that might confuse him as a witch and burn him at the stake. Roland had been there, and he was scared to death by that memory. Even if the man had hurt Roland, he would have to ride after him, although he was not happy about it.

Sheathing his blade, Roland took a step back to his horse, to give chase, but stopped short to look at a lone candy bar at his foot, and he felt inspired. He could use the candy bar as a peace offering, returning the candy to its rightful owner and maybe gain his trust enough to have him listen to him. Plus, Roland had gone so long without having one that he was not about to give up on the chance of riding back here to collect them later. Someone else might find them, and eat them all leaving Roland with nothing. He could not risk that.

Quickly he sprang into movement, gathering bar after bar, bag after bag of candy and hiding them within his saddlebags. Thanks to the fact he was only checking on Deshavi and her hunting party, he had not bothered to fill them with anything, leaving all available space open for the precious food. When all of the candy had been collected, Roland mounted his horse, and trotted slowly ahead following the man's trail.

Although Roland knew he had absolutely zero experience with tracking, he had seen Deshavi do it dozens of times allowing him to notice several patterns in how she could find a trail and follow it. As he tried to use some of Deshavi's techniques, he saw a very distinct foot print in the ground, the man's weight making very deep indents in the soft soil. So much showing my tracking skills, Roland thought bitterly.

Following the tracts, Roland felt his jaw growing tighter and tighter with pain. Whatever had happened, it was beginning to sear uncomfortably, distracting him more and more from his trail and what did happened to his tooth.

Suddenly the trail stopped, causing Roland to stop his horse and look up. There was the Village of Amashke, and Roland could guess what happened next.

"Dammit," Roland sighed realizing he would have rescue the man. "Don't even know the idiot's name," he gripped, only to remind himself that Francis did not know his name when he rescued Roland. Knowing he was being fussy, he sighed frustrated and rode towards the village.

For a village, which already implied a grouping of buildings with little to no importance at all, there was even less then what Roland would have guess pessimistically. Two of the four buildings were burnt into charred remains. Sultanate foragers and looters from Halmar were probably to blame for that.

The other two buildings looked rough and flimsy, as if a stiff breeze would tumble them over into kindling. The larger one was a clay long house with a straw roof that head several holes in its roof. The other appeared to be a sort of barn made from unfitting lumber, used for food storage, livestock, and raw materials. Someone also lived there apparently, and their cheap peasant clothing could be seen waving in the wind to dry.

In the middle of the village a small group of people gathered in a telltale sign of a mob, all around the large man that Roland had encountered in the woods. But that was not all. A group of armed men, one on horse back and the four on foot, draped in white surcoats surrounded him, as if they were claiming him as one of theirs.

"What is going on here!?" Roland exclaimed over their voices. Everyone turned to the stranger, letting Roland see the black marking on the surcoats to be in the shape of an eye's pupil.

The man on horse back regarded Roland searchingly for a moment, sizing up this mercenary.

"We've caught a witch!" One of the villagers cried from the crowd. No surprise there, but who were this armed men?

"And you five?" Roland asked, looking at the rider. He was a stout man, about Roland's height and weight, with sandy blonde hair cut short and jaggedly. A deep and red scar that started deep in his hairline somewhere, circled around his forehead until it curved down the left side of his face were it ended at his ear where the top third was gone.

"We are a patrol from the inquisition," the mounted man replied.

"The what?" Roland asked, aware of the word's meaning but not wanting to give the impression that he knew.

"We ride about Calradia seeking out witches," he explained. "We were resting in this village for the day when this witch appeared from the wood."

Roland looked at the fat for the first time. He was panting and wheezing heavily, tried out from his run from Roland. "This man is a witch? How can you be sure?"

"This," The man said revealing a cell phone in his hand.

"What is that?" Roland asked again, conditioned to say that whenever he saw a cell phone.

"I do not know myself," The blonde haired man admitted, putting it into a saddle bag, "But it is the item of a witch." He looked at his victim. "Proving this man is a vile evil doer."

Evil doer? Roland thought to himself.

"I request that I should take him," Roland added quickly.

"Why?" The man asked.

"Because he attacked me in the woods," Roland said thinking quickly. He couldn't pull the same ploy Francis had done to save him, since this "Inquisition" was doing the same thing they he would be claiming he could do. "And I want my revenge."

"You will have to talk to Gergen, he is the head of the inquisition," the rider informed dryly.

"And where is he?" Roland asked hotly, hating that the man was using bureaucracy tactics to block Roland from his goal.

"Curaw." Of course it was a city faraway.

"I see," Roland said unable to hide is frustration. He could not reason his way out, to save this man's life. What next? Could he fight? Five against one, all of them reasonably armed, plus there was a risk the villagers would intervene. Plus he was in a hostile land. If they discovered he was the leader of the Wolves, it might be Tulga all over again. Could he convince them the man was not a witch? No, if he tried to defend the man, he might let something slip that he was from earth as well, and then they might be taking two witches with them instead of one. Bribe them? He had no money on his person right his moment, only chocolate, and that would raise their suspensions about Roland. He could do nothing.

"I'm glad you are doing something against these witches," He heard himself say, finally. "Calradia has been plagued with them over the past couple of years." He tried to sound curious: "What do you intend to do with them?"

"We plan to imprison him," The man smiled, "Once we determined if he is any harm to the world or not."

"If he is?" Roland persisted.

"Then we kill him," the man shrugged without a care. Their prisoner then whimpered at those words and tried to sink to the dirt, only to be forced on his feet by two of the men. "If not, we release them."

"I see," Roland sighed, aware of a feeling he was not welcomed any more, and worried if he stayed, he might end up joining the man. He looked at the rider, "I guess that will be punishment for attacking me…"

"Yes it will be," the blonde man smiled unsettlingly. Roland felt a chill up his spine, the rider seemed too sure of "punishment", and to enjoy the prospect of it. Quickly Roland turned his horse towards the end of the villages, "Farewell and good travels," Roland called back as he spurred his horse forward, not meaning a single word he said.

Outside of the village, Roland felt the pangs of his actions hit him. Anger, at himself for not being prepared, if he had some money, bribery might have worked, or brought some more men with him he could have forced the inquisition men to hand the prisoner over. And then there was the fact that all this could have been avoided if Roland had not been so damn curious over the damn backpack.

He was tempted to throw all of the candy away out of disgust and punishment for not being able to save the man from Calradia, but something stopped him. Maybe it wasn't entirely his fault? After all the man attacked him first, without a single word being uttered between the two of them, and then ran off after being merely threatened by a sword without waiting to hear what Roland had to say. The thoughts helped, although they did not completely absolve him from his own personal guilt. "These better be damn good chocolates," he said to himself, urging his horse to go even faster.

Back at camp, Ymira was one of the first ones to greet him. "Are you alright captain?" She asked. Roland looked at the steward of the Wolves, the potato counter of the troop. She was tall, and once in her life could be described as lanky, before her mercenary days. She had bright blonde hair that went beyond her shoulder's length, and bright blue eyes that could rival the sky's colour. She was also one of the most educated of the Wolves, able to do math in her head and able to read the thickest texts the land could produce.

"Yes, why?" Roland asked, wondering if Ymira suddenly gained powers to see within a person's soul, or just read his mind.

"You have blood all over your chin," she informed him, disproving all of the theories Roland had.

"I do?" he said felling his chin and the dried blood on it all crisply and flaking off. "Thanks," and started scratching at his chin vigorously, only to stop suddenly and wince at his jaw.

"Are you sure you are alright?" Ymira asked again.

"Bumbled into a branch helping Deshavi search for her deer," He lied, not wanting to let Ymira know of the chocolate. Not because he didn't want to share, but he was worried it might cause some sort of suspicions to grow in Ymira about him. And he didn't want that, he liked the blonde Wolf. "Are they back yet?"

"Not yet. Does it hurt?"

"A bit," he said, "Is Jeremus in his tent?"

"I think so," she nodded.

"Right," he nodded back, "Could you let Haydee know I'm back."

"Sure," Ymira smiled, allowing him to head deeper into the camp unworried.

Catching sight of the troop's surgeon, Roland dismounted grudgingly. He had a sneaky suspicion that there would be little the surgeon could do to help him easy the pain. But some help would be better then none, right? Well even with the knowledge that the remedy for his aching jaw would be medieval at best, primal at worst, he longed for the pain to go away. Even if it subsided a little it would help.

"Jeremus," Roland called, grabbing the attention of a burly man seated outside of the troops medical tent. Jeremus, apart from having the position of troop's surgeon, also held the proud knowledge that he was one of the very first Wolves ever to be recruited. His training in the field of medicine was mostly an accident, according to the man himself. The college in Swadia he had enrolled was famous for their philosophy, and that was what Jeremus intended to master in. However, the man failed to predict that every middle class son would want to learn the same thing and had much deeper pockets then the self made man Jeremus was. Unable to bride his way into the philosophy, he met with one of the less known masters of the school, a "nature philosopher" he described himself, and taught the eager Jeremus everything he knew about medicine.

At the call of his name, the dark red haired man's wide face and nose met Roland, and his lips cracked into a smile, "Ah, Roland! What brings you to me this day? Come here to lose at Vert?" It was a well-known fact by now that Jeremus enjoyed playing any sort of game in his spare time, and it was equally known that Roland was absolutely the worst player of Vert, (Calradian Chess) in the company.

"No," Roland said lightly, "I ran into a branch in the woods and I think I did something to one of my teeth, could you look at it?"

"I'm afraid teeth are a little out of my knowledge," Jeremus admitted begrudgingly, "But I will take a look and let you know what I will find."

"That's all I ask," Roland nodded, taking a seat in front of the tent.

Prowling his captain's teeth was no easy task for Jeremus. He had line his head just right to maximize the amount of light that could enter into Roland's mouth, as his fingers probed around trying to find the source of the pain. Thank god, Roland had asked Jeremus to clean his hands on a regular bases. Final he touched a tooth and found that Roland winced as he did he found the cause of woe.

"You have a cracked tooth, Roland," he said taking his hands out of his captain's mouth. "Barely hanging on to the tooth.

"How bad?"

"The crack is fairly big, luckily it seems to be a straight horizontal crack, so it can be taken out easily, although you will have a smaller molar then the rest."

"Will it hurt?" Roland fretted.

"I'm sure," Jeremus said bluntly, "But it will less the pain quicker over time. And the tooth might grow infected if left as it is."

Roland frowned, he wanted to pain to go away not have it "lessened" or momentary increased for long-term benefit. But that was all Jeremus could do it seemed, and it was better to get it over with now. "Be quick about it." He almost pleaded.

Jeremus rewashed his hands, and started at work. At first he tried to pull off the top half of the tooth by hand, but it was stuck on, forcing Jeremus to return inside his tent to get a tool of sorts. Roland shut his eyes when he heard Jeremus' footsteps returning, and decided it was for his benefit to keep them shut and let the surgeon do his work.

First he could feel something cool and metallic in his mouth, something clamping around his mouth, and then the pain arrived. Roland had been injured before, he had been cut, he had had his arm dislocated, but none of that seemed to compare with what he felt now. Horrible, it was, and he could feel the tears of pain swell his eyes and he waited for it to be over.

"Done," Jeremus said taking the instrument out of Roland's mouth. Roland opened his eyes, but made and effort not to look at the relaxed arm and the instrument, but the outstretched hand were the top of the tooth lay. "Strange," Jeremus said perplexed looking at the tooth.

"What is" Roland said, licking the now lowered tooth that seemed foreign in his mouth trying to numb the pain.

"Your tooth, Roland." He said holding it up to the light of the sun, "I've never seen anything like this," pointing to the centre of the tooth. Roland took one look at the tooth, and almost jumped in alarm as he saw what Jeremus was referring to a small silver spot in the centre of the top of Roland's tooth. A cavity.

"Neither have I," Roland said quickly, and tried to change the subject to distract Jeremus, "What about the rest of my tooth? Is it alright?"

"Like I said," Jeremus commented playing with the tooth in his hand, trying to puzzle how a silver like metal was placed into a man's tooth, "I know very little about teeth. There was no blood, so that's good…"

"Okay," Roland said again, licking over his teeth one more time. "Could I have my tooth back?"

"Sure," Jeremus said plopping the tooth into Roland's palm, "Still I've never seen metal in someone's tooth before."

"Well like you've said," Roland counter taking his tooth quickly out of sight, "You know very little about teeth."

Jeremus grinned, "True."

"I'm heading back to my tent." Roland then knew a way to distract Jeremus. "If you want, I can swing by to night and play a game of Vert with you."

"You're offering?" Jeremus laughed amused.

"Sure," Roland replied plainly.

"Alright," nodded Jeremus, never one to turn down a friendly game. "See you tonight."

Roland gave a grin, and was off to return to his tent, to let the pain ease away. Jeremus watched him go, a bit puzzled at his captain. Being one of the Wolves who had been in the troop the longest, he had seen Roland lie and being curt because he was hiding something before, and this time it was very obvious. It must have had something to do with the tooth. While everyone had secrets, even Roland, Jeremus found this one to be a bit more intriguing to puzzle together in his mind. Maybe he could pry Roland's mind tonight in their game.

Meanwhile, Roland was walking briskly back to his tent, winded and tired from the experience of removing his tooth and trying to hid it from his surgeon. How could he have forgotten that he had a cavity in his tooth? Granted, he really was very concerned about his dental hygiene since he arrived to Calradia, but it should have occurred to him before he spoke with Jeremus. He tighten his fist around the tooth in his hand. He was worried Jeremus might suspect something off about Roland, more so then usual.

"Damn that man," he said to himself, still angry with the other earthling nearby, the cause of all of this worry. Roland decided, in his rage, to let the man be escorted by this "inquisition" to wherever they were heading. After all, the group must be small, if Roland had never heard of them, and they would most likely scare him a little. Instead he would ride back to Suno when he could, and inform Henderson about the man and this "inquisition", if he did not already know, and then have Henderson deal with it. Roland felt he wanted nothing more to do with the man, and Henderson would have a better standing to get him back.

He stopped in his tracks realizing, that the chocolate was still in his saddle bags. Not a very secure place in the camp, especially from Klethi: the company's assassin, thief, and superstition collector, with a self proclaimed hobby of witch hunting. If she and her sticky fingers found the chocolate… well, Roland could see her coming after him, accusations of him being a witch coming from her mouth, and her knives draw, or she could eat the chocolate, and get a sugar rush, something any assassin should not have. Either way he would have to hide it somewhere. His tent was the only place he had a little privacy.

Taking a sight detour to his horse, he walked at a quicker pace back from the horse to his tent, his eyes darting from every other Wolf that walked passed him fretting that he might be called out, or some freak accident causing the saddle bags to go flying and the chocolate falling from the sky like rain drops.

Thankfully Roland arrived to his tent without accident, and almost jumped into the flap of his tent. With the canvass behind him, Roland let the saddlebag fall on his cot. No more waiting for it. He wanted something tasty, something that would make him feel better despite the pain, he wanted chocolate.

Carefully he opened the bag, and pulled the first candy bar he felt. The wrapper read, "Sir Chocolot," and Roland could not help but laugh at the fitting name, only to stop short in pain from his raw tooth.

Suddenly the flapped opened, and Roland frozen like a deer in headlights momentary before he ducked the candy bar behind his back. It was Haydee, suddenly aware she had stumbled upon something intimate.

"Is this a bad time?" she asked.

"For anyone else, yes." Roland replied quickly, and revealed what he was hiding. "But for you, well…"

"I came to tell you that Deshavi and her group came back. They where about to send a search party out for you, bit I let them you came back safe and sound. What is that?" She asked pointing to the candy bar.

"A treat from earth." He smiled, displaying it before his lieutenant.

"Sir Chocolot?" She read from the wrapper. "I don't understand…" she confessed.

"It's a candy bar," Roland informed him. "Sir Chocolot is the name of the brand of candy." None of his words seemed to impact the young lady. "Ok, it's like a baker, say John, wants to claim to have different bread then other bakers, he would call it John's bread to claim it is different then any other bread. That's what they did here."

"Someone named Sir Chocolot made this?"

"No, that's just a fake name." Roland shrugged. "In my world, the people who make these things have to try to be clever with their names."

"I still don't get it," she admitted.

"It's hard to explain to be fair," Roland said soothingly. He played with the bar in his hands, "Would you like to try it?"

"What's it taste like?" She asked unsure of the food.

"It's very sweet. Full of sugar. More so than anything you've probably had in you life."

"Ok," Haydee nodded, still apprehensive.

Roland unwrapped the bar, and it did not bolster much confidence in Haydee. It was a dark and ugly brown to her, like a turd. But Roland was excited, and she was willing to try it for his sake.

Cutting the bar in half, he gave half to Haydee, and kept the other part for himself. Haydee was unsure how to eat such a thing, and pulled out a small knife she held in her belt and cut a slim piece to try it. After placing it in her mouth, she chewed once, twice, and then the flavour reached her tongue. It was unlike anything she had ever had. She understood why Roland was so excited for his meal.

"Incredible," she exclaimed, following Roland's example and picked up the bar with her fingers and forgot about the knife.

"Yeah," Roland agreed.

"So in your world, this is a rare treat?"

"Not really," He confessed trying to keep the candy from touching the tender tooth. "They are pretty common, you can have a whole meal from these if you want to, some even do. Although it is not a good idea."

"Why?"

"It's unhealthy, people can kill themselves by eating only this."

"People in your world knowing put their lives at stake just for this?"

"Does it seem so farfetched after trying some?"

Haydee swallowed the last bit of her bar, "No, not entirely."

Roland smiled, also finished with his candy bar. He let a content sigh pass his lips, "Ah that was good."

"Indeed," she smiled back.

The smiled faded from his lips, "I don't have to remind you not to tell anyone about this."

"My lips are sealed," she nodded, understanding the need to be secretive about it.

"Good," Roland said, reclasping his saddlebag's flap. "I'll share some more with you later, but for now we better save them, for Henderson and the others. I am lucky I found them at all."

"We're heading back to Suno again?" She asked.

"Have to," Roland admitted, "The person who owned all of this candy was taken away by some people called the inquisition."

"What is that?"

"If it is anything like the one I heard of our one at home, it is nothing good." Roland frowned, "They sound like people who hunt down witches and imprison them."

"And that includes people like you? People from earth?" Haydee asked.

Roland nodded grimly, "Yeah… it might be bad news for Henderson and the rest of us trying to save people from earth." She scratched his head, "I mean we knew it was an uphill battle, but never had a clear enemy against us."

"And the rest of world doesn't help…" Haydee added mournfully.

"Some do," Roland countered looked strait at her. "Others," he shrugged, "are often scared of something they have never seen before or heard of. We are all like that at some point in our lives. Like when one of us tries chocolate for the first time." he teased.

"That's true," Haydee nodded, "Although some just need a little time to understand."

"And I appreciate those who do." Roland smiled back. He saw the flap part open slightly and saw that it was dark outside. "I better go see Jeremus, I promised to play a game of Vert with him."

"You offering to play a game," Haydee gapped playfully. "I never thought I would see the day."

"You're surprised?"

"Not as much if you win against him."

"I thought you had more faith in me then that."

"As a leader of troops, yes. Playing Vert… not so much."

"Thanks…" Roland simpered. "I take it you are going to watch?"

Haydee nodded, "Of course."

-End notes.

First to third person.

Sorry for the change of perspective between the prologue and the first chapter. I felt it was more effective from Roland's perspective and then back to no one's in particular.

Sir Chocolot.

I gotta admit, I was very pleased by that name. Haha!

As usual, all the best

Indogma.


End file.
